Robert Rorabeck

The Fantasies Of His Yesterdays - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The conquistadors could never survive, Because we are all just menMaking love to anonymous women, Selling Christmas trees; And I hoped to look into your eyes, but youWere with your better men, Or married with a hypnotic badge, Fully into exegesis and not in need ofA stranger’s bouquets, So I kept doing all that I could do, Getting drunk and masturbating like the sunWith worse and worse eye sightTrying to leap lightly forward, but neverEscaping the fantasies of his yesterdays.